My private deduction
by Scullyamore
Summary: Sherlock and John have been best friends from the start. But will they come to terms with the fact that there is more than just friendship between them, maybe even some chemistry? A Johnlock story, lots of feelings expressed, maybe a little tragedy, but all happy endings (Sorry, terrible at reviews haha)
1. Chapter 1

John looked up from his empty blog page as Sherlock snapped his ringing phone open. "Sherlock Holmes" he said into the speaker. As a small smile spread across his face and John sighed relief and closed his laptop, getting up to grab his coat and shoes. After two weeks of Sherlock's boredom inside the house (which included many bullet holes, severed body parts scattered throughout the house, screeching violin composing at three in the morning and lots of "experiments") they finally had another case.

Sherlock looked at John and seeing him already at the door, turned his head slightly as he smiled. John is learning, he thought. His deduction skills are growing, impressively at that. His heart skipped a beat at the thought and, confused at that, he brushed it off with a shake of his head. Grabbing him coat, he strode out the door with John a step behind him, off to another crime scene.

Climbing out of the cab, Sherlock practically ran to the body, looking a little too joyful to be at a murder scene. "Hello freak" Anderson and Donovan smiled in unison. "Ah, I see you two are still shagging together, and it seems you both are getting more serious about one another, though neither of you will admit it nor do you want to. I suggest calming things down a bit since Anderson, you're still married and you both agreed it would be meaningless sex. But that's none of my business, right? It would make it a lot easier to ignore it if Donovan stopped using your toothbrush, and buy an ironing board for Christ's sake, even idiots can tell you've worn that two days in a row, be more careful Donovan, you don't want his wife to catch you two." He finished his deduction in record time and walked past the police tape with John snickering behind him as Anderson and Donovan gave him their best death glares.

Sherlock examined the body, walking around in circles trying his very best to go to his mind palace, yet with Anderson thinking, it did make things a bit challenging. He thought harder and started to get lost in his mind palace until he ran straight into John. Yelpling as his arms pinwheeled, trying not to fall on the dead man's body, Sherlock's reflexes kicked in and he grabbing John's wrists, yanking him forward just before he lost his balance completely. Lestrade sighed relief, he didn't need John or Sherlock contaminating the body, explaining that to the higher authorities would not be fun. As John found his balance, he looked up to see Sherlock's face inches from his, still grasping his wrists tightly. "Uhm, She-Sherlock" he stammered, "I'm okay now, y-you can let go." Surprised at his own actions, Sherlock pulled back. "Right, sorry, are you alright? Of course you are, sorry."

He tried to get back to his mind palace, but found his train of thought was completely gone. He felt John's pulse while he was getting his balance, quickened. And his pupils looked dilated. Sherlock shook off a thought about John for the second time that night. Probably just a slight rush of adrenaline from us both, he concluded. Though not being able to think about the dead body before him anymore, he flipped out his phone and snapping a few pictures, grabbed the file from Lestrade and told him he'd be in touch. With John now keeping up with his pace, they hailed a cab and drove back to 221B Baker Street.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey everyone! Sorry the chapters are a bit shorter, but I promise to update often. Please favorite or follow and give reviews, tell me what you like or don't like or what you want to happen and ill try to fix it. Enjoy! :D

"Would you like a cuppa?" John asked, walking through the door and tossing his coat aside. Sherlock laughed inside at his predictability. He always needed a cup of tea when he got home. "No, I need to work on this case. The answer is obvious, it's staring at me right in the face, just like the fake painting. But what is it? Why can't I think? It's like my thoughts are covered by a sheet and I can't take it off, I can't even find my mind palace..." He trailed off and John sighed as he continued to stare at the pages of the file.

A few minutes later, Sherlock snapped his head up. Taking in the surroundings, he saw John flipping through channels on the telly, his hair freshly wet, just out of the shower. Looking outside, he saw the moonlight shining through his window. I guess I lost track of time again, he thought to himself. "John, I think ill take that cuppa now."

"Why can't you make it yourself Sherlock? I just got comfortable." John practically whined. After having no reply for two minutes from the curly haired shell, John sighed and got up, finding himself smiling slightly at his flatmate. Such a genius, yet he relies on his best friend for tea.

After making Sherlock's tea, John walked over to where he had been sitting for the last five hours. Smiling at the sight of him, he set the tea down in front of human turned around. Walking over to his chair, he hear a small crash, a yelp, and a chair fall. Spinning around he saw a smashed tea cup, Sherlock's chair on its side and Sherlock with a soaking shirt. "Oh god Sherlock, what did you do?" John walked over with a broom to clean up the smashed cup. Standing up, he immediately noticed the way Sherlock's shirt stuck to him even more than usual. John stared at his chest for a moment, taking in the strong build of his body, noticing the way his muscles bulged against the wet shirt. He traveled his eyes down to his navel, seeing a slight definition of muscles and... And what was he doing? Why was he noticing all this? John shook his head as a blush rose to his cheeks. Taking the broken tea cup away, he hoped Sherlock didn't notice.

But of course, Sherlock noticed. And he noticed John's body as well. He watched John as he leaned over to clean up his mess. Cocking his head slightly, he took in John's muscular back, the way his toned forearms looked through rolled up sleeves. And when he leaned over, he noticed the way John's jeans hugged his butt tightly. And then he noticed that he was noticing these things and turned away quickly. As John stood up, he looked out of the corner of his eye and saw John's eyes searching his body. After a few seconds of feeling slightly violated, slightly flattered by John's stare, he saw a scarlet blush come on his cheeks, noticing for the first time that John's blush traveled down his neck disappearing into his shirt. Now it was Sherlock's turn to blush, and he realized that the hot tea on his shirt was burning him. Quickly unbuttoning his shirt, he threw it on John's chair, assuming he wouldn't mind and picked up his chair.

As John came back into the room carrying another cup of tea for Sherlock, he almost had another broken tea cup. His eyes widened and his blush deepened as he saw Sherlock's strong body lean over the fallen chair and lift it back into place. "Um, She-Sherlock, would you want me to grab you uh-" he trailed off for a moment as Sherlock turned to face him, completely topless. John became red as an apple and turned his head, trying to remember how to form words. Think you idiot, his brain yelled. Why are you so embarrassed, you're flatmates, you've seen him shirtless before, even cleaned wounds for him, why is this time different? "A shirt!" He finally remembered, practically screaming it with joy. Sherlock jumped slightly, surprised by his flatmates enthusiasm. Do I look that bad, he wondered. Suddenly very self conscious about his half naked body, he nodded and cleared his throat. "Yes, a shirt, of course, that would be lovely, any shirt will do." John hurried out of the room as Sherlock yelled to him. "And don't mess up my shirt index either, I had a hell of a time fixing it during your last drug search, I don't want to have to fix that one too!"

The next morning, John groggily shuffled into the kitchen, getting out some jam and popping bread in the toaster as he set some water for tea to boil. "Would you like a cuppa Sherlock?" He yelled in the direction of the living room, knowing his flatmate would already be awake, if he even did sleep last night. John sure didn't, it was a restless night as he tossed and turned, trying to get Sherlock's pale, white, muscular... Not helping John, not helping. He tried for the millionth time to shake the perfect image out of his head that was burned there as if with a branding iron.

Noticing his flatmate had not replied to his offer (Surprise surprise), John strolled over to the living room. Sherlock was sitting in the same position he'd left him yesterday, still shirtless. John had come back into the living room last night with a clean white shirt, and seeing Sherlock already deep in thought, he took one last long glance at his friend and draped the shirt over the arm of his chair, heading off to bed. Sighing, John decided against making Sherlock a cup as well, not wanting another mishap. Then again, he thought, this time Sherlock has no shirt. It would just spill on his naked torso. Or even better, it could spill on his pants, and then he would have to- Oh god John, what are you thinking?! He blushed a bright red for the second time in the past twenty four hours and grabbed his jam covered toast and tea, sat down to watch some telly. After a good twenty minutes of watching Sherlock instead with the telly as background noise and crossing his legs for a very specific reason, he went upstairs to take a very cold shower and get ready for the day. "Hopefully Sherlock will have put a shirt on by the time I'm out," he grumbled to himself, walking awkwardly to the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

SO sorry I haven't updated in a while. School just started and I'm taking a TON of classes so it's been really crazy, but I'm already working on the next chapter. I'm open to any suggestions or reviews on this, thank you for any support :D

"Three hours. Three hours! He's been on that date for three hours. Usually, if he wasn't having fun, he'd have texted me a code red by now and I'd have called him..." Sherlock trailed off, angrily grumbling to himself. John had been gone most of the day, first going off to his job at the hospital, and then coming home for a few minutes only to run back out with yet another date. This one was dull (like most of the others) and not particularly beautiful. Nothing even slightly interesting about her, average self esteem issues, trys to make up for her lack of personality with the amount of skin showing, (Which Sherlock particularly despised, though he wasn't sure why) and desperate for a shag.

After another fifteen minutes of shooting the wall and mumbling about John, he finally realized the oddity of this and how un-Sherlock of him to feel this strongly about John's date, even about the lack of John all day. Searching through his mind, he tried to pinpoint the feeling. He had never experienced it before, and didn't think he wanted to experience it ever again. Yet unlike most of his emotions, he couldn't shut this one down. Thinking back on the past few days, he realized this feeling had been raging in his head. He knew it was directed at John, yet he didn't understand it. And John had been acting weird as well, maybe he was feeling it too. Or maybe, he thought, I'm making him uncomfortable. Shocked by this conclusion, and shocked by his horror, he realized that must be it. The moment John came home he would talk to him about it. How unlike him this was. How strange, he thought. How very very strange.

Meanwhile, John was on his date having a surprisingly horrid time. Seventy percent of the time was her gabbing on about God only knows what and the other thirty percent was her thrusting her half naked body at him. The entire time, John thought only about his sudden... Notice of Sherlock. His beautiful body still burned into his mind. And after about three hours of not listening to the blonde broad across from him, he came to a shocking realization-(well, shocking to John, not to the rest of London) he was attracted to Sherlock. John. And Sherlock. Sherlock and John. What would he do?! Sherlock was probably asexual anyways, and even if he was sexualy active, (which John highly doubted) it would probably be with women. On top of realizing the awful predicament of liking Sherlock, (Ohmygodohmygodohmygod) he realized that if he himself noticed, Sherlock probably knew. An embarrassed blush rose to his face as he realized this. The blonde lady (What was her name? Veronica, Victoria, Venezuela?) suddenly laughed loudly. He snapped out of his thoughts, looking up at her. She gave him a wide smile and continued laughing. "Oh dear, I didn't mean to embarrass you, you're just so handsome i thought you wouldn't mind!" Not having any idea what she was talking about, he smiled back politely. "Well tonight has been lovely, here's enough to cover the bill and tip, you have a good rest of your night Veronica." He got up and walked out of the restaurant with her wide mouthed at being turned down. "It-It's Valerie!" She yelled back to him, though he was already out the door.

Walking home, John continued to think about his situation. Although he knew that Sherlock definitely didn't feel the same, John felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Laughing happily, he started running down the streets, earning him more than a few strange looks. He ran down the street, weaving in and out of parked cars. He knew, was positive, Sherlock was not his. He was married to his work, he'd said so before. But he didn't care. John was going to run home to 221B Baker Street, and although he would never tell Sherlock of his feelings, he himself knew, and he could live with just that.

As John neared the door leading up to his flat, he slowed his run, eventually coming to a stop with his hand on the doorknob. Standing there, he froze. John had come to a realization, but was he going to tell Sherlock? On the one hand, he wanted to so bad in hopes his love would be reciprocated. On the other hand, what chance was that? His shoulders sagged as he realized that although life had changed for himself, he would have to continue on normally with his everyday life. Walking inside the flat, he slumped up the stairs and walked into the living room.

Lost in thought, Sherlock was stick in his mind palace as John walked in the door. John sighed, halfway in annoyance, yet also in relief. At least this way he would have some quiet time to think, he would need it to make some sense of the jumbled rush of new found emotions in his mind. Making a cup of tea for himself, he plopped in his chair and began to lose himself in his own thoughts, both the flatmates silently thinking about one another.

After only a few minutes, John was surprised to hear Sherlock. "How long have you been home?" Sherlock asked curiously, his deep voice rumbling from his chest. John snapped his head up, blushing slightly as Sherlock titled his own head, absentmindedly brushing aside the ebony curls that fell into his eyes. "Uh-Uhm" John cleared his throat and tried again. "Just a few minutes, I just made myself some tea. There's still some warm water in the kettle, ill make you one..." John babbled and his voice trailed off as he walked into the kitchen. Coming back into the living room with a second cup of tea in his hand, he set Sherlock's cup down in front of him and turned to sit back in his seat. "John." Sherlock quietly said. Flopping into his chair, John looked over at him. Sherlock couldn't help but look into his beautiful eyes. He looked innocent at the moment, but no one, not even Sherlock, could imagine what that army doctor had seen in the war. A sharp stab of pain came to Sherlock's heart as it always did thinking about the pain John had been through? Sometimes Sherlock could see it written on his face, as though the war was still happening before his eyes. Resurfacing from his thoughts, he heard John's reply. "Yes Sherlock?... Sherlock? What's wrong? You look upset." His face twisted, now mirroring Sherlock's pained look. Rising from his chair, he came to the couch and sat next to Sherlock, close enough to feel the heat from his body. They both longed to move closer, yet neither made any move to do so. "I... Do I... Is there..." Sherlock sighed, slightly exasperated. He wasn't sure how to start this conversation. Actually, he wasn't too sure how to start most conversations, especially when he knew there was a chance feelings would be discussed.

While Sherlock was trying to get his thoughts together, John's heart was about to explode. Oh no, he thought. Seeing Sherlock have such a hard time starting this conversation, he figured it had to do with a touchy subject. He has noticed my feelings, John immediately thought. Here comes the "just friends" talk. He considered speaking up, to deny anything before things because awkward. But on second thought, he closed his mouth, deciding to hear what Sherlock was going to say. Maybe, he thought, just maybe he's trying to tell me he has feelings for me too. Just maybe...

Trying again, Sherlock drew in a deep breath. "I don't... Bother you John, do I?" Biting his lip, he looked away, somewhat afraid of the answer. John looked at Sherlock confused by his sudden inquiry. He kept silent for a moment, and when Sherlock looked over at him with widened eyes, he knew he had been silent for one moment too long. John quickly opened his mouth to answer, but it was too late. "I've made you uncomfortable, haven't I? Oh I knew it, I knew that's what it must've been, that's just what I was trying to prevent John, but I knew it, I must drive you crazy with my strange sleeping habits and you having to force me to eat and always picking up after me and my crazy experiments and my violin composing during the early hours of the day, I-" Sherlock stopped suddenly. He had been pacing in front of the couch, John opening his mouth each tiny pause he took to interject. John tried again to say something, but he was cut off once again. "Im-I'm not sure where that came from, I am sorry, goodnight John." Turning on his heels, Sherlock quickly strode into his room swiftly closing the door behind him, leaving John calling after him.

Sherlock slumped against his closed door and put his head in his hands. "Well that went great," he mumbled to himself. "Just wonderful Sherlock. Stupid!" He heaved a heavy sigh and let his shoulders fall, trying with all his might to make sense of these feelings, then eventually trying to push his feelings away as always.

John had followed Sherlock to his room, only a few feet behind him as the door was closed. Still stunned from his outburst, he heard Sherlock fall against his door and mumble something too muffled for him to understand. John did the same on the other side of his door, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his head against the cool wood door. John was confused by Sherlock, while also being slightly relived and also slightly disappointed. The conversation had not been what he thought it was, yet it also wasn't what he wished it was. Realizing this was wishful thinking on his part, John waved his feelings away, wanting to forget about them for now. After sitting there for what seemed like years, John got up and went to lie down on the couch, inhaling Sherlock's scent from the pillow he usually used on the rare occasions when he slept. The smell was pure Sherlock, a mixture of his body wash, shampoo, and that unique smell that couldn't have come from any bottle. Sighing, he turned on the telly for noise to drown out his thoughts, shoving his face into Sherlock's scent as it relaxed him into a rare deep and almost immediate sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello again guys :) I 1000% appreciate all the follows and reviews. It's my first fanfic so I really appreciate any and all support. If you'd like something to happen just message me and ill see what I can do. I'm sorry it's been taking so long, I'm recently homeless and wifi is getting harder to find. Anyways, enough of that, ill continue to write this as fast as possible. Okay, story time! Xoxo

Waking up bright and early in the morning from his internal alarm clock, Sherlock had cramps nearly everywhere. He had slept against his door that night, not even moving to his bed. He lifted his head up, feeling the sore muscles burn in his neck. Moaning in discomfort, he stretched out the rest of himself slowly. Yesterday he hadn't even bothered to change out of his everyday clothes. Sighing, Sherlock once again put his head in his hands as the events of last night flooded his already busy brain. He decided he didn't want to think about it, instead stripping down and grabbing a towel to tie around his waist. Deciding a quick cup of tea and a hot shower would be the temporary remedy, Sherlock walked into the kitchen and, putting the kettle on, he noticed John passed out on the couch. Slowly walking up to him so as not to wake his sleeping solider, Sherlock lightly brushed his hair from his face. Smiling down painfully at the wonderful image it was, Sherlock touched his hair one last time. Deciding against the tea, Sherlock turned off the kettle, instead walking to the bathroom for his shower, the steamy water drenching his curls, he spent the next ten minutes pondering why he had described John as "his."

John awoke to Sherlock's footsteps padding on the floor. Stirring slightly in his half asleep stage, he discretely looked over at Sherlock. Blushing violently and immediately (something he seemed to be doing around Sherlock a lot lately) as he saw Sherlock's with just a towel around his waist. The towel came to about mid thigh and John thought he might faint at the sight of him. The more skin he showed, the more John was convinced that the feeling pressed against his pants was a bit more than just the usual morning glory. Deciding not to linger over Sherlock's body in fear he might see, John turned to his original position and closed his eyes, hoping to catch a little more sleep. Of course that was a silly notion, for now he had a new image of Sherlock in his mind replacing the old one. Noticing each image that replaced the last had Sherlock with less and less clothing, he snickered at the thought of the image to replace this one.

After a few minutes, John heard footsteps retreating from the kitchen and heading towards him. Preparing himself to be called out on his unconvincing fake sleeping, John was started by a different sensation altogether. He felt a light hand against his forehead, pushing away the messy hair that covered his face. Utterly shocked by the affectionate gesture, from the most emotionally closed off person John knew nonetheless, he tried his best to stay "asleep" as Sherlock brushed his hair away from his closed eyes a few more times.

Afraid of scaring Sherlock away, not knowing whether he still stood over him, John kept his eyes closed and breathing as regular as possible until he heard the shower water running. Slowly sitting up, he was now very awake. John's mind was now 100% cluttered with thoughts, 80% of them being about Sherlock and the other 20% about how to fix the problem that "arose" at Sherlock's touch before he returned from his usually quick showers.

John knew how he felt about Sherlock, even if it was still weird for him to think about. During his years in the army, he couldn't deny that the lack of physical affection had made him think about leaning over the line of heterosexual once or twice, but he never had. The thought used to make him laugh. John, with another man. But now, with Sherlock, it seemed so natural. His affection for the consulting detective came naturally. And more and more lately, he had begun to wonder Sherlock's feelings for him. John knew Sherlock considered him his friend, his only one in fact. He had said so himself. Knowing how he felt about Sherlock, he didn't allow himself to foolishly entertain the idea of his deep rooted feelings being reciprocated. But Sherlock wasn't making it any easier. Sherlock, who could ever make sense of his thoughts and (possibly nonexistent) feelings? John sometimes wondered if Sherlock himself could ever accomplish that feat.

Wanting to keep the lovely sensation of Sherlock's soft touch in his mind, John sat unmoving for a few more minutes. Though not long after, Sherlock's little outburst of yesterday surfaced in John's thoughts and he sighed. Not knowing how he was going to approach the subject, he decided the only way to do it was with tea. He turned the still warm kettle back on and plodded to his room for some fresh clothes.

Now in clean clothing and with two steaming cups of tea set on the coffee table, John felt a little more at ease. That is, until he saw Sherlock hurry into the room with his wet curls still plastered to his face, but thankful, oh god, fully clothed this time. Opening his mouth, John was quickly cut off.

"I figured it out. It was simple, so simple." Sherlock spoke, not even turning in John's direction. Confused, John gave him a questioning look. "What, exactly, did you figure out?"

"The case John, the case I've been working on for the past two days. I figured out who killed him. So, as we knew, the house staff had no knowledge of Mr. Point's murder, only the wife and daughter knew. Now, we have the butler, the two maids, and the chef. It couldn't have been the younger maid, she was obviously having an affair with him. As we were talking with the wife, she came closer as she heard Mr. Point being mentioned, and suddenly had to dust something in the bathroom after the murder had been mentioned. So not her. The chef had no motivating factor to, and she loves that girl more than her parents do, she wouldn't risk that. The butler has known them for years, good friends of Mr. Point, has a wife and family of his own living in their house, he wouldn't risk that either. But the other maid, she took a pay cut because her work was less than acceptable. Many motivating factors, i believe you'll find the weapon of choice in her car parked in the back."

Laughing, John realized once again how simple these deductions sound and how amazing Sherlock is to notice them. "Well I'll text Lestrade." John chuckled. "Already done." Sherlock mumbled in reply, already completely engrossed in a new experiment. Deciding to let him be for a while, John smiled and got up to get ready for work at the hospital, planning to instead approach yesterday's events later that night.

After having the most boring day of work in the world, John arrived at 221B to find Sherlock in nearly the same position he'd been in all day. Sighing, he flopped into his chair and threw his jacket on the couch. Seconds after he sat, his phone buzzed. John groaned loudly, hoping it wasn't a patient call from the hospital. Pleased to see Lestrade's name on the screen, he read the text inviting him for drinks. Deciding a drink would be good before his dreaded talk with Sherlock, he got up once again, grabbing his jacket off the couch. "Sherlock? I'm going for drinks with Lestrade. I'd invite you but I know you don't drink, so ill be back soon." Sherlock made a small noise in reply, turning discretely to watch as John walked out the door, slightly sad to see him go so soon.

Nearly two hours later, Sherlock had grown bored of his experiment and now sat on the couch watching crap telly, wishing his blogger were there to entertain him. Suddenly, he heard a thump by the door. Jumping up, worried Mrs. Hudson had fallen, he opened the front door to see John tripping on the first step. He looked up, giggling slightly. "Hehehehe... Silly step. Tripped me when I wasn't lookin'." John slurred slightly, giving Sherlock the slightest of hints that he was completely hammered.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock grabbed him by the arm, helping him into the apartment. "Hiya bud. Wow... Have you ever noticed how... " John scrunched his eyebrows, apparently trying to think of the right word. "Boing-y! How boing-y your hair is. Watch, watch, watch. Bbbbboing!" John yelled as he grabbed one of his curls, tugging on it and letting it bounce back into place. Feeling a small smile tug at his lips, Sherlock did his best to support John's weight, blushing as John's hand slipped from his grasp and brushed against Sherlock's butt and rested on his thighs. "You got a nice butt... Heheheheh, butt..." Finally dragging him into the apartment, Sherlock set John on his chair. He'd never seen John drunk before, and decided it'd be fun to listen to him ramble for a few minutes before he had to drag him to bed.

"You're sush a good fren.. You're my best frien... You knoe, heh heh, I saw you almoss nakd today... Yur preddy handsone... Heh heh. SherlogHolmes, hadsome detective... deduction... Whatever it is you are." Sherlock realized what John was talking about, and suddenly worried John had been awake when he had brushed his hair. He hoped he was drunk enough to forget all the events of today. "You shoulda come for drinks. I useta think you only thought of yur body as a place to hold that giant brain ofyers... But after seein' you in tha towl, I can tell you take care of your body hehe."

"Ivvve been thinkn'," John began, standing up, very unsteadly and walking over to Sherlock. "That little deductions of yers took so mush longer thn usuallll..." His words slurred together and forgot vowels here and there, making Sherlock suppress a little laugh. "I wonder whyyyyyyy... Maybe," John leaned in, just inches from Sherlock's face now as his eyes widened in surprise and another blush crept across his face. "Just maybe, Sherlock Holmes was disssstracted..." John smiled and tried to close the inches between them. Sherlock pressed his back against the couch. Leaning in even more, John put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders to balance himself, again closing this distance between them. John's top lip brushed against Sherlock's full bottom lip for half a second, about to push against his lips fully in a kiss. Then, Sherlock's hand pushed John onto the couch beside him, and Sherlock jumped away from him.

MWAHAHAHA CLIFF HANGER! Sorry lovelys, I'm sleepy and I like seeing you all frustrated. I should be updating more often now, hopefully the wifi situation will be better. Until then, have fun agonizing over this chapter. But look on the bright side, I'm not Steven Moffat so everything will be alright, and I won't wait a year for the next chapter, i promise. Until next time, hugs and kisses.


	5. Chapter 5 part one

Omg okay so don't hate me for taking so long. My phone COMPLETELY erased everything when I was like 90% don't with this chapter so ugh I had to do it over again. So thus is part one of chapter 5. I'll do a part two probably later this week, I'm already halfway done but I wanted to let you all off the cliffhanger haha. Sorry again, okay story time :D

Sherlock's hand pushed John onto the couch beside him, and Sherlock jumped away from him. Running into the kitchen to escape from his flatmate, he almost laughed at the hilarity of it all. Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world, running away from his short, drunken, and apparently horny flatmate. With a smile on his face, John stumbled after him.

"Oh don't beso ssstubourn Sherr. We almoss had a momnt therr." Grabbing Sherlock firmly by the hips and shoving him against the counter, John unsuccessfully tried to undo the first button on Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock weakly tried to push him away without avail. "Oh comon, yuh cantell me youre not enjoin this, evn a litl.. Besize, thos poor buttins suffver evry day your shirtsr so tight." John smiled, still trying to undo the first button. Sherlock shoved him away hard this time, but John was "ssstubourn" as he had put it.

With a determined look, John came back pulling Sherlock's collar down to him and once again set to undo his shirt. Pulling Sherlock even closer, he pressed his lips against the soft, pale skin of Sherlock's neck. Though Sherlock tried to keep it in, the smallest of sighs escaped from his lips. "Oh, lookslike yuhr notaz rock hard az evrywon sayss you are..." Smirking, John's gazed trailed down to pants. "Or ARE you?" That sigh apparently gave gave him (along with sass) the extra push he needed and as Sherlock's face turned red, before he could push him, John grabbed the sides of Sherlock's collar and yanked, popping all his buttons off in the process to reveal his beautiful body underneath.

As Sherlock's body was revealed, he immediately came back to his senses, analyzing that the situation was very not good. This time when Sherlock shoved John away, he succeeded in getting him to move. Embarrassed, he tried to pull his shirt together before realizing that wouldn't help at all. Instead, he threw John over his shoulder with some effort and started a walk to John's bed. After he was about half way there, he realized this probably wasn't a good idea as John's hands suddenly ended up firmly on his butt. "Wow, howdoyuh hav that nize ofa butt?!" Sherlock quickened his pace and entered John's room, tossing him on the bed.

"HAH!" John suddenly laughed out loud. "Sherlock is getin me inta bed! Bettcha never thought ya'd hear that bafore, huh?" Ignoring his slurred speech and the way he defiled him with his eyes, Sherlock firmly tucked John into bed, turning on his heels. With a small afterthought, he turned back around and punched John in the face. Not enough to hurt him badly, but enough to knock him out which didn't take much in his drunken state. He didn't really feel like waking up to John trying to take his pants off. He then turned towards the hallway and closed to door quietly behind him.

End part one! Like I said, part two is coming soon. I appreciate all follows, reviews, suggestions, etc. Thanks lovelies! Xoxox


	6. Chapter 5 part two

Hey everyone! Told you I'd update soon! So I just wanted to say thank you to all the sweet reviews you guys guys send me, I love rereading them, they they make me so happy :D Anyways, as always, leave reviews, suggestions, what you like or dislike, etc. And be sure to favorite and follow if you're you're really into it. Okay, story time! Xoxo

John in his lifetime definitely had his bad mornings. Waking up in a battlefield, for instance, wasn't always the perfect way to start the day. But the pounding in his head, the burning in his throat, the bruise on his cheek, and the ache in his stomach telling him that the toilet and him would become better acquainted today was one hell of a combination.

Taking a few minutes to slowly sit up, wincing with every moment, he noticed something to his right. On his nightstand, a glass of water, a bottle of pain killers, and some black coffee sat waiting for him, steam still rolling off the cup. Slightly touched by what was obviously a rare polite gesture from Sherlock, he began to wonder how he made it into his bed last night. The memories of yesterday weren't clear in the slightest, but at that moment, memories weren't as important as finding a place to vomit his innards out.

Hearing cursing and stumbling followed by a door slamming shut and the lovely melody of a much expected hangover, it was affirmed that John had awoken. Sherlock, on the other hand hadn't awoken at all for he in fact hadn't slept all night. Some long overdue deductions were contemplated throughout the night which awoke some long ignored feelings, feelings Sherlock hadn't considered about himself since childhood. (Which meant pretty much any feeling, really)

After hours in thought, he had become angry at himself, for he had realized that too much lately, he wasn't able to explain some of his actions. Have a mini-meltdown, allowing John to practically violate him while he was drunk off his butt, (which Sherlock tried not to ponder on too much since thoughts and feelings were not the only thing it brought up) and even this morning, doing an act completely out of kindness for John and expecting nothing in return. If there was one way to make Sherlock Holmes furious, then not knowing things was definitely the key.

After emptying his stomach of everything he had eaten in the past four years, John finally began to feel a little better. Taking a shower to wash the smells he'd have rather not admitted came from himself, his mind was still frustratingly foggy, yet he decided he probably didn't want to know whether he had made a fool out of himself or not. (Though he could never guess how much he really didn't want to know)

Emerging from the steam filled bathroom with a towel around his waist, his headache was now at maximum power. Downing the highest dosage of pills allowed along with the now lukewarm coffee, he sat back down in bed rubbing him temples. "Today won't be the best of days I've had lately." He murmured to himself. Little did he know that it was about to get much worse.

A few minutes after the shower was turned off, Sherlock heard footsteps coming down the stairs. At this point, a feeling that was entirely new to him arose, not considering the one occasion where John was on the ground with a gun pointed at his head. Panic. Sherlock Holmes began to silently panic. Sitting up straight, he looked around quickly for a place to hide... And then realized that Sherlock Holmes was looking for a place to hide from his rather short, completely hungover flatmate. Taking a few calming breaths, he kept his eyes straight ahead as John entered the living room heading towards the kitchen. "Mmph" John groaned in a greeting, still sounding very groggy.

At this point, Sherlock whipped his head around in surprise so fast he nearly hurt himself. John continued his walk to the kitchen, obviously about to make some tea and coffee (like the good little housewife he is). Then Sherlock realized with great relief that the events of yesterday were unknown to John and his prayers had been answered. He really didn't remember. Relaxing a bit, Sherlock leaned into the couch, fatigue settling in slightly. Yet he sprang right back up as he realized a very important detail about John that he had surprisingly missed at first glance.

John.

Was.

In.

A.

Towel.

...

JUST a towel.

As if that wasn't enough, it was a rather short towel, coming up to his mid-thigh. And then Sherlock noticed something he had never before noticed. John Watson's butt was pretty fabulous. In fact, Sherlock took a few seconds to admire this, turning his head this way and that until he realized with a great burst of embarrassment that he was checking his out his hot flatmate. With even more embarrassment, he noticed he had described John as hot. Scarlet shades coming on his cheeks, he quickly flopped his head down.

John entered the living room once again, setting a cuppa down on the table. "Thanks for the coffee this morning, hope I wasn't too much trouble last night." John said as walked over. Then suddenly looking down at himself, he became red, as if just remembering he was dressed only in a towel. "Uhm, I'm gonna go... Take care of this... " He trailed off, trudging up the stairs. Sherlock's eyes followed him all the way up the stairs, nearly catching a glimpse up his towel. Trying to chase the image away, though at the same time not wanting to, he decided to store it in his mind palace for now. "You know, just until I find out what I want to do with it" He silently reassured himself.

Once again John entered the kitchen, now fully clothed, to grab himself another cup of coffee. Walking towards his chair, something on the floor caught his eye. Reaching down to pick it up, he recognized it as a button.

"Sherlock? What's this fro-" John paused mid-sentence. His eyes widened as all the events of last night were triggered by a simple button. His jaw dropped open and he met Sherlock's equally horrified eyes.

"Oh god, oh Jesus, was this from last night?"

Sherlock looked away. "Mhmm..."

"And I...?"

"Yep"

"And... And you..?"

"Yeah"

"And I... Your neck...!?"

"Uh.. Mhm."

"And the shirt?" John held up the button.

"Yes"

"And..." John gasped quietly. "The moan...?!"

"It wasn't a moan! It was a... a... Well it wasn't a moan!"

"Ooooo... Well that's... That's.."

"Very not good?" Sherlock offered.

"Yeah, yeah that was pretty not good... So... Uhm... Well that's... That was... I was... I probably shouldn't ever drink again..."

"Probably... Probably not."

"Um... You could've... I mean... Is that where I got that bruise...?"

"Well I just wanted to make sure that you wouldn't follow me and... Um... Well..."

"Yeah... I... Yeah..."

A few seconds that seemed like hours passed in awkward silence until Sherlock's phone rang, making them simultaneously jump and then sigh in relief that they were, in fact, saved by the bell.

"Yes Lestrade, where do you need me..." Sherlock paused, reconsidering. "Us I mean. John isn't going into work today, he seems slightly affected by your little, how do I say, engagement last night." John smiled downwards, still embarrassed, but happy Sherlock was still involving him. Hanging up, Sherlock grabbed his coat and looked towards John, though avoiding his eyes. "Joining me? We've got a new case."

"Of course, you'd be lost without your blogger." John replied, grabbing his own coat and closing the front door behind them.

That's all for now! I'm trying to be better about keeping up. Hope you enjoyed it! I'm also thinking about starting a different Johnlock, possibly after the fall. Let me know know what you guys guys think! Thanks for all your support! Xoxo


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